


Cave canem

by Maracuya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Pompeii - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal, Character Death, F/M, Holy Roman Empire, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Master/Slave, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-05 07:31:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maracuya/pseuds/Maracuya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A SanSan story set in Pompeii. Main characters widowed!Sansa Lupusina and slave!Sandor Canisius. Smut & love & history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_moonmoth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_moonmoth/gifts).



> This story was written for the Comment Fic Meme No. 6 and has been finished. This is a slightly revised version.
> 
> This was Moony's prompt: "Warning for dub-con, consent issues etc. Love!slaves. I bloody love that trope. But Sandor is the slave/whore/whatever for Sansa to use as she deems fit."
> 
> "Cave canem" ≈ "Beware of the dog".
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own my works of fanfiction/fanart. I do not profit from the stories or drawings, nor would I  
> ever seek to do so. All credit for characters, plot and settings go to the respective original author or artist.

 

It was a good day for Sansa Lupusina Baratinus. Each day since the death of her husband Primus Iofrecus Baratinus had been a good day, to be precise. Her late husband had died of a fever recently, and finally, Sansa Lupusina was free of the sadistic tyrant she had married. Now, people didn't rate her as the dirt under her husband's sole any more, but simply the respected widow of one of the richest men in Pompeii – and there were many rich men in Pompeii. The rest of the small Baratinus family (and thus also the more numerous, notorius, noble and rich Lanistrus clan connected to the Baratinuses in marriage) lived in Rome. Those family members only resided in Pompeii for a few weeks each year: in the summer, when it was so hot that you could barely breathe in the capital of the Empire, they moved to the coast.

Sansa Lupusina's uncle-in-law, Tirinus Impius, a man who evened out with his extraordinary intelligence what he lacked in body height, was always first to arrive with his waddling gait, because he loved to frolic around in the various whorehouses the town was renowned for. He had also been the one who had stayed next to her when Primus Iofrecus had drawn his last feverish breath.

At once, the funeral had been organised, and Sansa Lupusina's disgusting husband had been burned and his ash been laid to rest in the necropolis beyond the Porta Nocera. The tomb was as ornate and impressive as anyone could wish for – and Sansa Lupusina had not visited it once since the funeral procession. Neither had Tirinus, who, amongst all those horrible Lanistruses was probably still the most acceptable one.

Right now, Sansa's uncle-in-law was having some hours out: he had announced he'd go to the Odeion to listen to a philosophical lecture, and later, he meant to visit a sumposium in the house of his best friend, Bronnus. It was clear as daylight that the two would indulge in food and drink and whoring, so Tirinus Impius would be gone for quite a while and Sansa Lupusina could be alone for a while.

Since she was expected to be in mourning she couldn't go out much herself, but she didn't mind. She decided to relax in the thermal bath Primus Iofrecus had had built before his demise. The bath had actually been one of his very, very few good ideas.

So she left the lararium where she had been praying – for her own family, not for her dead husband, of course. Then, she followed the overgrown portico with the marble floor tiles, passed the atrium, walked on to another wing of the house and finally reached the bath.

To her surprise, the caldarium – the room with the pool that contained warm water – wasn't quite as empty as she had expected. A tall, heavily-muscled slave with dark, long, lank hair and a partly-burned and heavily-scarred face was there and in the process of cleaning everything, of arranging new phials with scented oils and of providing clean towels. The man, Sandor Canisius, had been Primus Iofrecus's personal servant and bodyguard, so Sansa Lupusina had despised the man, even more so, because he was a grumpy fellow with an aggressive, raspy voice. Sansa had toyed with the thought to sell him to a gladiators' school. A slave like him, a giant of a man who featured such unequalled physical strength and swiftness was really made for the fighting pit. Gladiators were famous, prominent, even if they were slaves; besides, the most successful ones would be awarded a wooden sword in the end and could thus gain their freedom after many victorious combats. Selling Sandor Canisius would bring Sansa Lupusina a nice amount of money.

She sighed and didn't quite know what to think. Her husband had always ordered one or another slave to hit her, to beat her up until she was more or less unconscious, but coarse and vulgar as Sandor Canisius was, he had never hurt her.

The slave turned around and bowed. He was only wearing a short, simple garment, which meant she had a plain view of his muscled arms and legs and the coarse hair that was growing there.

“Mistress”, he growled. “What can I do for you?”

 

“I am about to take a bath.”

Her eyes flitted to the wall where various frescos could be seen. The scenes and motives were all disgustingly obscene, just like Primus Iofrecus had liked it. In one picture, a faun was presenting an outsized erect member while around him other fauns were copulating with nymphs in different poses. Sansa Lupusina had never understood how one could possibly want such paintings, but her deceased husband had delighted in everything lascivious, as long as it embarrassed her. He had always loved to humiliate her. So she decided now that she wanted to have the bath painted differently. The price for Sandor Canisius would suffice to pay a new design. Tirinus Impius would naturally be disappointed of the new style, but she didn't care overly for the man's lecherous gusto.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Sandor Canisius spoke up again: “Everything has been arranged, as you can see, mistress. I'll leave you to yourself then.”

Sansa Lupusina bit her thumb, deep in thought and decided that if she wanted to sell this slave she better had a good look at him. She didn't want to be outsmarted and intended to find out what he was really worth.

“Wait, Sandor. Tell me: can you swim?”

The tall slave shot her a confused glance.

“Yes, mistress. I once saved your late husband from the Tiber in Rome after he had fallen into it.”

Silently, Sansa wished the man had let Primus Iofrecus drown, and she couldn't even feel sorry for her dark thoughts. When it came to the sadist she had been married to she was beyond a bad conscience for any dark thoughts.

Sansa Lupusina's eyes flitted to the large fresco with the naked faun again.

She said to the slave: “Let us go over to the frigidarium then. The warm water here isn't very suitable for swimming. The water in the cold pool will be better. I would like to see how capable you are.”

The man's eyes widened a fraction, but he only rasped: “Yes, mistress.”

They walked to the next room with another – and also bigger – basin.

Sansa Lupusina sat down on a stone bench. There was a soft towel here, too, and so was a phial with scented oil, just the way she liked it to be.

She looked up at the scarred slave, waved her hand and said lightly: “Go ahead!”

There was a dark sound deep in the man's throat. He was glowering at her, and his eyes looked angry. After a moment, however, he put off his garment. Because of the summer heat he wasn't wearing anything underneath.

Primus Iofrecus had taken his wife to many slave auctions, because he had known she didn't like naked flesh on display, and he had made her look at the people on offer. In this way, Sansa had seen many men, sometimes also impressive ones, and she had realized that – though Primus looked fair enough if you didn't know him – her husband's proportions had merely been of average size (which had already been too much).

However, she had never seen Sandor Canisius naked... and there was certainly nothing average about HIM. Sansa's breathing accelerated slightly when she took him in. True, his face was scarred and so was his body; he also shot her dark, angry looks. He was always so morose! More than once, she had heard his raspy voice emanating from the slave quarters and ranting and raving about the “bloody arrogant, spoiled bigwigs”. Still, the man had always been loyal, despite his rude behaviour. Moreover, there was no denying that he was... physically impressive as well.

Right now, he was turning around and walking over to the basin. Sansa watched the muscles of his back and buttocks move and play, and all of a sudden, her heartbeat fluttered in a strangely unruly way. Male bodies had never aroused her after her marriage. She had come to believe that she was incapable of feeling lust.

When Primus Iofrecus had bedded her it had been nothing less than absolutely horrible for her. Most of the time, he had forced her to pleasure him with her mouth, sometimes even in front of his horny, degenerated friends, which had always nearly made her gag (and as soon as he had left she had always puked), or he had taken her through the back opening. He had only ever entered her womanhood when she had been suffering from her menstruation, knowing full well that he could hurt her then more effectively and that she was less likely to conceive. Even after three wedded years she had only become pregnant once – and then, he had a servant kick her into her belly until she had miscarried before anyone else had known she had been with child. In public, he had always humiliated her by denouncing her as barren. So it was no wonder that Sansa had always felt dead on the inside.

But times were changing swiftly as she now had to admit.

Sandor Canisius had jumped into the water, and his huge frame was ploughing through the waves with a speed and elegance she hadn't expected. Sansa Lupusina couldn't help herself – his movements were a feast for the eyes.

Calling herself wanton she tried to get her control back and called: “That is enough, Sandor Canisius!”

The slave swam to the fringe of the basin and heaved himself out, his muscles bulging and flexing again, and now his long, dark, lank hair was wet again and plastered to his head.

“Is that everything, mistress?” he wanted to know and sounded slightly defiant.

Before she knew what she was doing she ordered: “Please come over here, Sandor Canisius.”

By Iuppiter, what was going on with her? And her heart beat even faster.


	3. Chapter 3

 

There he was standing now, dripping and looming above her like a giant. He was looking straight ahead at the wall. Since Sansa Lupusina was still sitting, her face was alarmingly close to his private parts. So she got up. Being rather tall, her face was on one level with his collar bone now. Sandor stood stockstill, like a statue, kept on staring into nothingness and his breathing was faster than usual. Sansa told herself that it was because of the swimming demonstration.

“How long have you served my husband, Sandor Canisius?” she asked to fill the awkward silence that had fallen between them.

“Ever since I was twelve. I served his mother first, then him.”

“And before?”

“My grandfather, father and brother were Tivio Auro Lanistrus'sclients. My brother got into debt. He then sold me to the Lanistrus patriarch to pay off these bloody financial obligations. The patron noticed my size and strength, and I was trained to become a bodyguard for the family.”

“I see,” Sansa Lupusina murmured, not knowing what else to say to that sad story. No wonder Sandor Canisius was so bitter – he had been born a free man.

“Where did you get that scar on your collarbone?”

“Which one, mistress?”

Sansa raised her hand and touched him ever so lightly. The slave twitched as if he had been burned by her finger.

“Oh, that one,” he growled. “I got it when Master Primus had his first tavern brawl.”

“Ah.”

Suddenly, Sansa Lupusina's nostrils widened the tiniest fraction and she inhaled. She had caught a whiff of the slave's scent. It was strange. Now that she came to think of it she remembered Sandor Canisius' smell... only now she found she liked it. She inhaled again and closed her eyes. Yes, definitely. His musky, manly, clean scent was nice – so much better than her husband's stale odour.

Suddenly, something warm touched her belly although Sandor Canisius hadn't come any closer than he already was. Sansa looked down and blushed fiercely.

In fact, one part of him HAD moved. Of its own accord. And it had touched her body.

Sansa looked up and saw the uneasiness in the man's stony face. He was still looking at the wall.

“I haven't had a woman for a long time,” he rasped.

He sounded slightly defiant again. Sansa cocked her head. What on earth did that mean? Was it an excuse? An explanation? An insult in disguise? Or just a statement? And what was even more interesting: WHY had an impressive man like him not had a woman for a long time?

Anyway – he was desiring her. That discovery made Sansa Lupusina tingle all over her body.

Her husband had never really desired her. He had only delighted in treating her badly.

From one moment to the next Sansa asked herself what it might be like to touch the huge, scarred man in front of her. And to be touched by him. Would it be really different from the pathetic intimate encounters she had known so far?

 

Suddenly, the most outrageous thought crossed her mind and she could do nothing but act on it. She grabbed the phial with oil behind her and opened it. Hmmmm. Lemon aroma. Her favourite one.

“This should be applied after a bath,” she uttered, and her voice was slightly shaky.

The slave's eyes flicked towards her for a moment.

He answered: “This stuff is for a noble woman, not for a slave.”

Was it true? Didn't he sound even raspier than usual?

It gave Sansa Lupusina a small amount of self-confidence, something she hadn't had ever since her wedding.

She smiled and retorted: “Ah, I think I can do with my oil what I want.”

From the corner of her eyes she noticed that Sandor's manhood twitched, and for the briefest moment, his face contorted with anger. Sansa was surprised. Why was he angry?

But then, her intellect came up with a fitting answer: he despised the “bloody bigwigs” and surely he thought her a spoiled, arrogant woman who considered him a plaything.

Strangely enough, her conclusions hurt her. She didn't want to toy with him. Not after her own experiences with Primus Iofrecus. At the same time, she was so... curious...

Sansa poured a few drops of lemon oil into her hand, lifted it and started to massage it into his chest. The coarse hair under her palm was wirier and denser than the fuzz that had covered her husband. She liked the slave's dark curls so much better!

Sandor Canisius suppressed a gasp, and his stare at the wall was so intense one might think he wanted to burn a hole into the stone with it. When Sansa's index finger brushed a hard little nipple there was a growl deep in his throat.

It caused her heart to beat against her ribcage like mad, and she started to feel a strange slickness between her legs she had never felt before. It was an intoxicating sensation.

Sansa poured some more scented liquid into her hands, reached around the man's enormous body and massaged it into the lumbar region.

Sandor Canisius swallowed, his manhood twitched against her belly again and there was a general air of despair about him now.

Sansa gathered her courage, started to caress his rump and a little further down... but then, he suddenly rumbled: “This is a game that is getting too dangerous for you, mistress. I'm on the verge of losing control.”

“Are you now?”

Sansa realised she wanted the slave to lose control. And though she couldn't understand where that notion was coming from – she also wanted to give him happiness.

 

She sat down onto the stone bench again, her face now on one height with his erect, swollen member. A drop was oozing out of his little opening. She inspected the tear-shaped whitish liquid. It was a miracle she couldn't understand – she had hated to look at her husband's manhood and even more so to touch it, but the man in front of her didn't inspire any such feelings.

Her hands were still cupping Sandor's buttocks, and then, she leaned forward on impulse. A deep, dark, rich moan erupted above her, and it triggered off the strangest pounding feeling between her legs. Sandor's taste was, like his scent, enjoyable, she realised to her own surprise. And the velvety texture of his skin THERE was even delicious! How she could like what she was doing now after all she had experienced was beyond her. But there she was, drugged by this man's scent and taste as if she had been given a strong magic potion.

Sandor Canisius moaned again, his hands started to comb through her hair helplessly and she became more and more audacious.

“Fucking Styx, what are you doing to me!?” he managed to grind out. He was losing control and started to push into her mouth.

Yes, what was she doing? A wave of self-consciousness washed over her. She was supposed to be a respectable widow! Only... she didn't have it in her to stop now. It was simply too wonderful to see Sandor's lust. She looked up and found out he was looking down at her as well. And then their eyes met. It was as if a bolt of lighting struck home. In that short instant, they weren't slave and mistress. For a heartbeat, it felt as if they were one.

But next, Sandor Canisius closed his eyes, bucked and exploded with a major grunt. Sansa knew she should feel ashamed. She simply had to! However, she felt only mildly embarrassed. Her deceased husband had more than half extinguished that sentiment after everything he had done to her. Instead, now her predominant feeling was... satisfaction.

 

In a reflex, Sansa licked her lips.

The huge slave in front of her had opened his eyes again, and his grey irises – “Oh, they are grey!” she noticed with fascination – were hazy, the pupils dilated... and when he saw the flick of her tongue disbelief was written all over his scarred features.

Suddenly, Sansa Lupusina felt bad. She hadn't wanted to toy with him – but what had she actually just been doing!? True, he had been aroused, but was this what he had wanted?

She felt an urge to apologise, which was strange because he was only a slave. Slaves had to do what their masters wanted. End of story.

Even her dead father would have said: “Some things in life are unjust and sad, but it is the way things are. We can only try to stand strong, whatever happens, and have to do our duty.”

Yet, Sansa shook her head. Something about this didn't feel right, but she didn't know how to proceed now.

So she made a non-descriptive gesture and stammered: “Erm. I guess... I'd say... this is what we both nee... ah, whatever. Sandor, I think I'll have my bath now. Probably, I should... stay alone now. You may don your clothes and leave.”

The man rearranged himself, bowed a bit awkwardly, and murmured:”Mistress.” Then, he turned and left with unusually wooden strides.


	4. Chapter 4

 

By Minerva and Apollon, what had she done? Sansa felt sharp pangs of a guilty conscience. Not on behalf of betraying Primus Iofrecus, no, not at all – but because she had behaved like no proper Roman woman should. She knew about former Imperior Nero's wife Poppaea Sabina and how people still gossiped about her three marriages, her infidelity, her extravagant sex life. The woman had had reddish hair, a fair skin and had been very beautiful – just like Sansa Lupusina. So it was clear that Sansa had to strive not to cause any negative rumours about her reputation.

Still being deep in thought, she walked over to the caldarium again, put off her stola and her short tunic with the strophium, a band under her breasts. When she was naked she stepped into the warm water.

Aaaah, that was good! Only it did nothing to cool down her blood, which was still boiling after what she had experienced with that slave. Her memories kept returning to his impressive physique and her heart was beating faster again.

Why on earth had she never spared the man a second glance, but had suddenly thrown herself at him like that? In such an improper way?

Sansa shook her head and she berated herself.

But her treacherous thoughts kept meandering, and soon, she was developing more new outrageous fantasies in connection to Sandor Canisius. She imagined how he would apply the lemon oil to her body. Oh my, he had such fascinating, calloused hands; so she wondered if they would feel as good on her skin as they looked.

Sansa even went as far as dreaming of a kiss from his half-burned mouth. She had always wanted to be kissed before her marriage, but that wish had died down immediately afterwards. It had been disgusting to kiss Primus Iofrecus's worm-like lips. Luckily, she had only had to do that a few times. But Sandor... Sandor would taste differently. It would be better with him, Sansa was getting quite sure of that.

 

Without really noticing Sansa's hand crept between her legs, to the place where she was experiencing this strange pulsating feeling again. When she touched herself the pounding became even more intense; when she noticed what she was doing, she tore her hand away from her womanhood in shock and jumped out of the basin. Her gaze landed on the fresco with the well-equipped faun again.

Oh my, the caldarium wasn't the right place for her!

Sansa darted towards the frigidarium and jumped into the cold water. Yes. This was better. Decidedly so. Even if the drop in the water temperature caused her to yelp.

But then, she remembered Sandor Canisius and what he had looked like while swimming in this pool.

The nipples of Sansa Lupusina's breasts drew together to tight little buds, and she felt extremely sensitive once more.

“Dash it all!” she chided, and the next moment, she pressed her hand onto her mouth. Diana help! She usually never used such bad language. Was Sandor Canisius with his crude behaviour already rubbing off on her!?

 

Sansa Lupusina was quite desperate when she returned to her bedroom. She needed to get out of the house! Simple as that. Of course, after her husband's recent death she didn't have a great choice of where to go. But a temple to pray to the gods was always a good possibility.

Sansa had been very pious as a girl. But then, her father – Edrio Lupusinus Starcus – had died, had been lynched during a street riot in Rome – though it was more than a rumour that the killer had been an assassin who had used the rising as some kind of camouflage, and who had been hired by a political adversary.

In her grief, her mother had turned to a new secret sect, one that used a fish as an identifying symbol. Next, Sansa had married the man she had already been betrothed to. However abhorred she had been by her husband – the wedding had saved her life, because the rest of her family had been denunciated as worshippers of the foreign faith, had her mother and her siblings been arrested and killed in the amphitheatre by lions.

Ever since, Sansa had scorned all kind of religion on the inside, but since Patron Tivio Auro Lanistrus, her husband's grandfather, and Cerisia Aura Baratina, Primus Iofrecus's mother, had not wanted to be related to the heretic sect as well they had sent her and Iofrecus away from Rome and to Pompeii for a permanent stay, and they had also kept a close eye on her and made her visit the normal local temples daily.

Sansa had shut herself off from the world around her as best she could and had acted like a well-trained mummer, but her heart had not been in it.

And now, Sansa Lupusina decided to visit the Forum Triangulare where she'd find the Temple of Heracles. She didn't want to go to the Forum Civile, because it was more likely that she'd stumble into one of Primus Iofrecus's old cronies there.

Swiftly, she donned a palla – a cape – and had her litter prepared. What she hadn't taken into consideration was that Sandor Canisius, being so extraordinarily strong and the family bodyguard besides, would be one of the porters, of course.

Cursing herself silently Sansa sat down in the litter. On her way to the temple she had a fantastic view of his dark, long hair and his broad, muscled back again. Next to this sight it wasn't important any more which graffitis could be read on the walls of the houses, or what was happening in the streets. As far as she could tell, Sandor's face was betraying nothing of what had happened between them, and Sansa could always pretend she was fanning herself because of the summer heat.

 

When she arrived at the Forum Triangulare there was suddenly a call from the throng of people there. Sansa Lupusina looked up and detected the waving hand of Tirinus Impius, though it wasn't easy to see because of his size. Next to him was a broadly grinning Bronnus, a fellow of disputable reputation, but indisputable fighting competence.

The litter stopped and was put down.

“Tirinus! What are you doing here? Coming from the theatre? Was the performance good?”

“Yes, oh yes, dearest Sansa! You should have heard the man talk about the relativity of truth. Very enlightening indeed. Only too short. But that wasn't too bad. Bronnus and me are on our way back from the”... Tirinus coughed... “therms for a quick dive.”

Bronnus laughed on hearing that and Sansa knew that whatever “dive” they had just had must have happened at one of the many brothels.

“I see”, Sansa Lupusina answered politely.

“By the way, dearest”, Tirinus Impius added, “Petrus Pecunius Baelisius has asked me to greet you.”

Sansa Lupusina made a face, because Petrus Pecunius had been Primus Iofrecus's toady – and he was also known to be an owner of various local brothels.

Tirinus Impius laughed, reached up and patted her hand.

“Never mind. The man is too far below you. And now, please do tell me: what are you doing here? Can I order you a snack in a hole in the wall restaurant?”

“Thanks, but no. I want to go to the Temple of Heracles – and I'm sure you and Bronnus will want to stay hungry for your later symposium, am I right?”

The two men grinned and nodded.

Tirinus Impius put his hand on his heart with a dramatic gesture and declaimed: “Well, dearest Sansa Lupusina, in that case I won't disturb you any longer – I'd only like to ask you to pray for my poor, wretched, corrupted soul.”

Sansa smiled and nodded her consent to do so. Suddenly, she pricked up her ears. Was that an angry growl that was coming from Sandor Canisius's direction? But why? Strange.

She shrugged and dismissed any considerations about the topic, because she didn't want to think of the slave all over again, greeted Tirinus and Bronnus once more, and since they had already arrived at the forum she headed directly for the temple.

 

As he was the family bodyguard the scarred slave, who she had got to know from such a... new perspective, accompanied her into the temple. Gah. Sansa Lupusina's decision to seek diversion here was completely useless! Never before had she really realised how often and how long he was at her side, always a step behind her, a huge but silent shadow.

His face was void of any emotions at first sight, but when Sansa looked at him more closely he shot her a very short glance that contained something that could only be annoyance. So she whispered to him: “You don't like it here.”

He shook his head lightly, but looked ahead of them as if he was scanning the people around for any evildoers and cutpurses.

“Why?”

For a moment, the man was confused, seemingly because she cared to ask him, a slave, and he shot her another short glance before he looked about him once more.

“Too many bloody tripods with fires for the sacrifices and too many sodding hypocrites, mistress.”

Oh. Yes. Sandor's facial scars had been caused by fire. No wonder he felt uneasy here. On second thought, it was surprising for Sansa that he was so honest with her.

“Well, with you around that makes one hypocrite less. And one fire more.”

Sansa tripped over her tongue. Oh holy Iuppiter! What was she saying!? Her mouth had spoken before her brain had considered the words – and even less the underlying message. A red sheen spread on her cheeks, and Sandor Canisius looked at her as if she had just grown a second head.

Sansa sped up and dashed towards a niche with one of the said tripods; there, she burned some ears with barley, which she had brought along for that specific purpose. Sandor Canisius stayed a little behind and though Sansa Lupusina had thought herself to have become anti-religious she suddenly found herself praying fervently for inner strength – and for the wisdom to do what was right. The big problem was, however, that her treacherous body and imperial Roman society held different opinions about what was right...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A further explanation of the names:
> 
> aurum ~ gold  
> pecunia ~ money


	5. Chapter 5

The visit in the temple having become rather pointless Sansa went back home after a comparatively short while. Again, her consciousness was constantly drawn to the hulking figure of Sandor Canisius. When she watched his mighty muscles flex while he and the other slaves were carrying her to her house she started to feel strange.

  
She thought: “I've got no problems with my feet and the distance isn't long. So why do they actually have to carry me?”

  
But then, she scolded herself; she belonged to a rich family and the wealth had to be shown publicly, so a litter was indispensable. Still, she would have liked to get some exercise. She was fidgety and some movement would have certainly done her good.  
Sansa Lupusina sighed quietly.

 

  
When they had arrived at home she clambered out of the litter and asked Sandor Canisius – rather than her handmaid: “Please, I feel hungry. Can you bring me a tray with food to my room?”

  
The slave's face darkened, but before bowing he said in a flat, unemotional voice: “Of course, mistress.”

  
Sansa walked over to her chamber. After her swim she had had her hair braided, and now, she opened it and allowed it to fall loosely over her shoulders. Next she put off her palla and her stola, which only left her wearing a short, light tunic. In the summer heat this was very comfortable. She sat down on her bed, started to brush her hair and tried to keep her mind blank.

  
After some minutes, there was a knock on the door.

  
“Enter!” she called.

  
Sandor Canisius came in with a tray. When he saw her in her state of partial undress his eyes widened. Sansa usually only let her female servants see her like that.

  
With a bright smile she told him: “You may put the food on the little table at the wall.”

  
As an afterthought she asked: “Are you hungry, too?”

  
“I'll have something in the kitchen in a moment, mistress,” he answered with his raspy voice.

  
Sansa Lupusina came over to the table and to where he was standing and waiting for either her next order or his release.

  
“Hmmm! That looks good! Cheese, dulcias* and grapes.”

  
Sansa looked at the food, then at Sandor Canisius, who was waiting silently and with a sullen expression.

  
“Take a seat on the divan, Sandor. Eat with me.”

“Mistress??”

  
The man shot her a glance of utter puzzlement.

  
Slaves simply didn't lie down and dine with their masters as if they were equals and Sansa knew it well, but somehow she didn't care... or rather even wanted to break the taboo.

  
Taking it as the order it was, Sandor Canisius obeyed and positioned himself gingerly on the divan, but remained speechless and guarded at the same time.

  
Sansa, who was still standing, could finally look down on the big man. She smiled and since Sandor looked like a block of wood and didn't move to reach for the food she took a grape herself. For an instant, she looked at the little blue piece of fruit, then made a decision, placed it between her teeth and bowed down towards the slave's scarred face.

  
The man didn't have a clue of what was going on or what she wanted him to do and just looked at her uncomprehendingly. Even when Sansa looked him in the grey eyes there was no spark that showed her he was grasping the concept. Only when she literally pushed one end of the grape between his closed lips and lightly touched his mouth in the process did he get the message. Or at least part of it. He swiftly sucked the fruit in and munched and swallowed it – as if eating as fast as possible was the ultimate target behind the exercise. If Sansa Lupusina was honest he looked rather close to panic.

  
She frowned. Didn't he want this? Hm. Sandor's face betrayed no disgust. He just looked... totally lost. It was somehow especially endearing. It drew Sansa's mouth to his, and she could do nothing about it. Finally, her mouth landed on his – and Sandor winced so heavily he nearly seemed to jump out of his skin.

Sansa drew back and looked at the man once again. Had she misjudged the situation so badly? Did he like her touch so little?

  
Sandor looked shocked. Or perhaps... dazzled. He was panting.

  
His hand rose to his partly-burned mouth and he croaked: "Mistress. You've just kissed..."

  
He faltered and Sansa Lupusina retorted: "Yes?"

  
"But..."

  
Sandor Canisius was beyond words, and he shook his head in abject disbelief. Still. There was no rejection to be detected on his side, as far as Sansa could see. And another thing became clear for her: she absolutely needed to taste him again! The short moment when they had touched had already been more than enough for her to confirm that kissing this man was the complete opposite to everything she had ever experienced with Primus Iofrecus.

  
So she cupped Sandor's cheeks, the good and the scarred one alike, and her thumb started to caress his chin. He stared at her, spellbound. And she gazed back, deep into his eyes. Why had she never seen before just how wonderful his eyes looked? For once, there was no anger in them, and they were like a deep well. Sansa Lupusina thought they were beautiful. Incredibly beautiful. Her heart was pounding so heavily that he could certainly hear it.

  
Slowly, she bent down a second time and laid her lips onto his again.

  
And suddenly, with a metaphorical but all the more powerful and momentous creak, the dam broke, and there was no holding back any more. On either side. There was a moan, but neither of them wasted a heartbeat to even think about who had uttered it. Within instants their world shrank to the two of them, to what they were feeling, to the kiss they were sharing...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *See "aliter dulcia" here: http://www.cs.cmu.edu/~mjw/recipes/ethnic/historical/ant-rom-coll.html#12


	6. Chapter 6

 

Sansa had never lost control so thoroughly. But now... her hands were in Sandor's hair (and his in hers), and their lips and teeth and tongues clashed so passionately that they had to suck in each other's air to be able to go on breathing. Their bodies curled around each other – and there was a lot of Sandor to curl around for her. It was so overwhelming!

  
Neither of them knew who started it, but from one moment to the next their hands were roaming over each other's body, shortly followed by their hungry mouths – and the clothes were gone somehow.  
It was a miracle. Sansa Lupusina had always been deeply ashamed when she had had to present her naked body to her deceased husband, but when Sandor Canisius looked at her there was so much wonder in his eyes that the only thing she felt was the need to present him more of herself, to show him all the glorious feelings she was capable of.

  
They didn't talk, couldn't even talk – so aroused and breathless were they, and it was good this way. Sandor Canisius's face, however, was easy to read now: there was wild, primal lust, mixed with disbelief and yearning. Sansa pulled the big man as close as she could, she could feel his erection between her legs rub against the tender skin on the inside of her thighs.

  
She gasped and cupped his buttocks, like she had done in the bath, and Sandor growled. Next, he started to feast on her breasts, nibbling, kissing, sucking, biting lightly – gods, there was no end to the elation she was feeling!  
Between her legs there was enough wetness to soak the fabric of the divan now, if she pressed her body onto it. Sandor Canisius slid his shaft along her folds and bathed in her juices, causing her to whimper.  
But then, it happened.

A picture flashed in her mind, of how Primus Iofrecus had entered her and how it had always hurt, physically and mentally. Sansa Lupusina couldn't help it: within a heartbeat, her body was as stiff as a stick.

 

 

At once, Sandor Canisius went rigid as well, his face closing up, and he rumbled: “So that's it, mistress. Coming back to your senses, getting afraid of me once more. And now you see me like I am: the strong, rude, monstrous slave.”

“No, Sandor, no! You're so wrong! Listen to me!” Sansa Lupusina chattered.

The slave's face was as hard as stone now, well, apart from the twitch around his partly-burned mouth, and it was clear as daylight that he wanted to turn his back on her and didn't care for any excuse she might make – but in his position he had to stay and obey.

“Sandor, I'm not afraid of you! I want you, and I want you to want me. I only fear... I only fear it might hurt again as it always did in the past. It used to be... so horrible.”

The man's features softened a little, but stayed very serious nevertheless, and he betrayed a deep bitterness Sansa had never seen in him.

Then, he rasped: “Each time he laid his hands on you I wanted to kill your husband. And bloody Merinus – when he was found with the broken skull last year he hadn't fallen off the balcony on the first floor in a fucking booze. I actually dispatched him after your husband had told him to...”

Sandor stopped in mid-sentence.

Sansa Lupusina was shocked, but she still wanted to know more and demanded: “Tell me.”

“It's nothing for your ears, mistress.”

“Tell me!”

The slave sighed.

After a moment, he started again: “I heard Primus Iofrecus order Merinus to maul you with a broomstick and a huge candle. Back in the slave's dormitory Merinus boasted he... he'd stick both things into you at the same time, and with the candle aflame. Luckily, he snatched himself an amphora and drank too much mulsum for his own good. And when he was dead I knew at least he couldn't do anything to you any more – and the master didn't suspect a thing, because Merinus was still reeking of alcohol.”

 

 

Sandor's words left Sansa Lupusina incredibly upset – and not only by the disgusting plans Primus Iofrecus had had in mind. Sandor Canisius had risked his life for her! For if he had been caught, her husband would have punished him in the worst possible way, that much was clear. And she herself had not even noticed! Had not even realised who had been responsible for the death of one of those horrible slaves who had beaten her up on Primus Iofrecus's orders.

Sansa's heart went out to Sandor. The man was still beside her on the divan, and she put her arm around him silently and nestled up against him, allowing the huge slave's manhood to touch her again. She tried to will down all the fear that was still bottled up in her soul after her horrible wedded life.

Sandor sighed darkly, thoughtfully, then said: “Mistress, I'm not the right man for this task. Bloody Styx, I'm no good lover who could help you relax. And I'm a wild man – I'm afraid I might lose control and hurt you, which I don't want to happen to you.”

Sansa Lupusina frowned, trailed his hip with her hand, caressed his side and asked: “Why do you think you're no good lover?”

Sandor Canisius snorted: “Bleeding shit, what do you think, mistress!? With my looks women aren't exactly lining up to get fucked by me. I may know the basic movements and positions, but I don't have a clue of how to make a woman happy, even less one who has been nearly crocked up by another man. You should choose a better lover, someone who would be gentle and patient with you.”

The answer Sansa Lupusina gave him was uttered in a tiny voice – though what it lacked in volume it made up with conviction: “There is no better man. And I want only you.”

Next, Sansa sealed the slave's mouth with another kiss so he didn't even get the chance to object – but if his swollen, twitching member accounted for anything Sandor Canisius had been in no mood to object anyway.

 

He took her leg wordlessly, wrapped it around his middle and positioned himself at her entrance, but at the same time, he was unsure. So was Sansa Lupusina. For a while they kissed, embraced and the tip of Sandor's manhood only pressed lightly into the opening, giving them a foretaste of what could be. The problem was that Sansa couldn't help it – again and again, those old pictures bubbled up to forefront of her mind, and she stiffened again. Gods, how would she ever be able to relax and to find joy with this man?

“Fuck, I need this so much,” Sandor breathed.

Finally, somehow he made it into her with a controlled, but determined thrust.

Sansa mewled and grew so rigid in fear that the muscles of her legs and lower belly started to tremble. Sandor Canisius stilled at once, held her close and he stroked her back awkwardly.

“Breathe evenly”, he told her.

Tears started to spill down Sansa's cheeks. This man was bigger than the one she had known before, and down there she was at full stretch. She wasn't made for him. Sansa felt sordid, wretched, because she couldn't give the man the lust he was craving for.

Suddenly, Sandor took her face into his huge palms and rasped with difficulty: “Look at me, mistress!”

She tried to do what he was asking her, though her sight was bleary. The slave put his hand under her chin then and held it.

“Sweetest mistress, don't expect this to be heavenly the first time after what you've been through. Your body has to learn something new. There is no shame in that. Just don't let your husband win, now that he's dead. You've been able to endure more than many. Give yourself some time. – Aaaah! Fuck, you feel so good!”

Sandor's reaction had touched Sansa Lupusina once again, more than she could say. And she could also see how difficult it was for him to talk despite his lust, could see his frustration and his inner fight to curb his instincts. Primus Iofrecus had only ever put his own needs first. It was this discrepancy that made it possible for Sansa to relax a little. She also discovered that, yes, she was stretched... but it didn't really hurt.

A shaky sigh escaped her throat.

“Show me something more, then, Sandor. Carefully.”

And the man was happy to oblige.

 

 

He started to move. Tried to keep it slow. In a way it was relieving that they were more or less lying on the side, even if the divan was narrow for huge Sandor Canisius – at least in this way, Sansa didn't have to fear he might crush her.

There were moments when it felt almost good. Almost. To see the lust in his eyes was certainly wonderful. So were his kisses.

Whenever passion got the better of him, however, and his movements became more erratic, her body reacted involuntarily and stiffened; she simply couldn't help it.

Each time, Sandor looked as if someone had splashed a bucket of icy water onto him, and he came to a halt until Sansa Lupusina could relax again. In this way, the whole process took much longer than any sexual encounter she had ever experienced before.

Once more, she could feel the speed of his movements increase and though she tried to breathe deeply and to will her muscles not to tense she failed miserably. And Sandor, who was panting heavily, was interrupted again. He then looked at her, and when he knew she was fine, there was suddenly a strange spark of merriment and a little half-smirk on the good side of his mouth.

“You know what, mistress?” he growled.

“What?” Sansa peeped, flushing deep red.

The slave actually teased her now: “This is by far the strangest fuck I've ever had.”

Had these words been spoken in a different tone, Sansa Lupusina would have been deeply hurt, but the way it was... she suddenly started to laugh.

Gods, what was THAT!? Her body went mostly slack in Sandor's arms while her lower belly shook and heaved from the fit of laughter, and suddenly, she felt better. Much better. Free. What a strange sensation it was to feel a man so intimately while laughing!

Sandor Canisius seemed to think the same – and since he was so very aroused her sounds of levity and the tremors of her abdomen sent him over the edge, and he peaked while gasping: “Fuck!”

His climax was another completely new impulse for Sansa. There was... bliss in his grey, stormy eyes; she knew no other word for it and it was glorious to behold.

Exhausted, the big man panted and lay still otherwise. Sansa Lupusina could feel him go limp inside of her and realised she didn't want to let him go. Couldn't let him leave. So she kept her leg around his middle and pressed herself flush against him so he couldn't roll away easily.

“The mistress is possessive indeed”, he murmured with his dark, raspy voice and smiled against her forehead.

“Yes,” Sansa whispered back and smiled as well.

 

 

Now that Sandor Canisius had had his climax she felt that things were getting easier for her. She didn't feel as stretched any more, and neither did he drill himself into her wildly. Eventually, she could focus on her own needs – and there were quite a few. She ran her hands through his hair, the lank one on the head as well as the wiry one on his body. Her fingers trailed his muscles and his scars, and it felt delicious.

Then, she noticed that while she had been hungry before they had started to make love she was ravenous now.

“Sandor, give me some of the cheese chunks from the table, please, your arms are longer!” she asked.

“What!?” He was flabbergasted. “You want to eat while I'm still inside of you!?”

Sansa Lupusina grinned mischievously.

“I think we'll have to practise this game with the grapes again.”

Sandor chortled darkly and handed her some food. This time, their eating-kissing-game worked much better, because he was a fast learner. After a while, he got so passionate that he was nothing less than fucking Sansa's mouth with his tongue.

Oooh, this was good! She had no negative reference point there, and she could feel how her womanhood started to pound.

Then, Sandor's huge, calloused hands set to work. He started to flick his thumbs over her nipples, causing her to moan. That, in its turn elicited a wide male grin. When Sansa's breasts felt as if they were aflame his hands moved to her behind – and from there between her thighs, to where they were still joined. His fingers started to examine and to probe her sensitive flesh there. She whimpered again and again. Oh holy Iuppiter!

He was slow and teasing, now that he had had two ejaculations on that day already.

“You know, sweet mistress, I always thought I'd die with a bloody sword in my hand. Slowly, I'm starting to wish I'd draw my last breath with a different sword in a different place.”

“Don't you dare!” she jested back.

It took Sandor Canisius quite a while, but at length he grew hard again. He then pulled Sansa on top of him. She gasped. In this position she felt him even deeper inside.

“Better pick your own rhythm now,” the slave suggested.

That was a completely alien concept to her, but after a while she took a fancy to this position. At some point she sank against Sandor's angled legs and yelped. Next, his hands started to chaff her private parts again. He was more experimenting and less refined, but she liked his touches nevertheless. In the end, her body grew tense – but this time, it was from lust, not fear. She moaned, and then, there was some kind of 'pop' in her lady parts, and waves lapped through her torso. It wasn't a very intense climax, she'd find out later, but since she had never experienced anything close she thought she had been hit by a bolt of lightening.

Exhausted, she slid off and next to Sandor Canisius, who had watched her with fascination and adoration. He was still aroused, so they both rubbed his shaft with one delicate and one big hand. After he had come a third time and Sansa Lupusina had watched on with curiosity and flushed cheeks he bantered about it: “Now this is what I call a joint venture!”

Sansa giggled like she had done the last time before her wedding day. Oh, how wonderful it was to make love and not to have to be afraid!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!


	7. Chapter 7

 

The next morning, Sansa Lupusina awoke and felt incredibly good. The only thing that dimmed her happiness was that Sandor Canisius had left her after their sweet, intimate games. She hadn't asked him to leave, but they had both known that he as a slave couldn't be seen sneaking out of her bedroom in the morning.

It wasn't fair, but those were the rules. However, there would be other times when they could meet again secretly and renew the ties between them. Sansa sighed.

She got up, called for a maidservant and had herself cleaned and dressed. Then, she made for the dining-room where she came across a bleary-eyed Tirinus Impius, who was nibbling listlessly on his breakfast.

Sansa Lupusina smiled at him and said: “Ah, let me guess, Tirinus. You only arrived back home an hour ago. Did you have an amusing night at Bronnus's house?”

“Splendid, splendid”, Tirinus mumbled, yawned and held his head. “Only too much drinking for my own good. As usual. Anyway. But you're uncharacteristically late this morning, Sansa.”

“Yes, I've overslept, but I don't have any plans for today, so it doesn't matter.”

Suddenly, Tirinus Impius smirked wryly and retorted: “Oh, but you DO have plans for today. When I came back I was handed a note from a messenger. My dearest father is on his way here and he'll arrive in a few hours.”

“WHAT!? Tivio Auro Lanistrus?”  
“The very same. And my lovely sister Cerisia is accompanying him with Myrcella and little Tominius.”

Sansa Lupusina blanched.

Her head started to spin.

“Have the servants already been told they have to prepare some rooms?”

“First thing I did. I'm still half drunk and I've got a formidable hangover, but I'm not a complete oaf.”

“Yes. No. I mean...”

Tirinus waved his hand and said sarcastically: “I'd advise you to have your breakfast now. Like me. Might be my father's 'loving' presence will have the effect we won't be able to eat properly for a while.”

 

Sansa felt panic. Her grandfather-in-law was such a cold, ruthless man! He had done nothing when her mother and her siblings had been detained and thrown into the pit with the lions. And now that she had found a small measure of happiness in Sandor Canisius's arms it would be next to impossible to meet him again with all those people in the house!

Sansa Lupusina would have preferred not to house Tivio Auro Lanistrus as a guest, but that wasn't possible. The problem was that the house belonged to the Baratinus family, not to her personally – so actually she herself was the one who could be thrown out at any time. What made things worse was that she had inherited nothing from Primus Iofrecus; the testament had been clear about that.

She only owned the dowry she had brought into the marriage. It had been a generous dowry, because her father had been a quite wealthy man, but it was something completely different in case you were forced to live off it solely.

All those things went through her head while supervising and giving orders to the servants. Several times she could also spot Sandor Canisius here and there, but they were both intelligent enough not to give any feelings away. He was only wearing a loincloth in the sun, and he was sweaty from the heart work so that droplets were sparkling on his skin. Gods! Once again, Sansa could enjoy to watch the play of his superb muscles while he was carrying amphoras with wine from a cart in the yard down to the cellar. Oh, if only she could touch him like she had done the night before!

 

Two hours later, Sansa Lupusina's heart was beating so fast from being nervous that she didn't know what to say or where to stay any longer. On impulse, she went to the bath without even thinking. When she arrived and pushed the door open there was at once a pair of strong arms that pulled her inside, deep into the shadows of a corner.

“Coming to see your ugly, scarred slave a last time before the pater familias arrives?” a dark voice rasped into her ear.

“Sandor!” she gasped and pressed her lips onto his at once.

Hungrily, the big man answered the kiss.

Gods, he was still sweaty, she could smell it, but it didn't matter.

Instead, she murmured back: “Time for a last bath – for both of us! We have to be presentable when Tivio Auro arrives.”

Sandor Canisius snorted back: “Me presentable? As if that would be possible. But I like that bit about the bath.”

And then, he growled under his breath: “I was hoping you'd come here, sweet mistress. That was why I was here.”

Sansa Lupusina's heart beat even faster than it had already done, and her womanhood started to drum along.

Her voice was throaty when she answered: “Well, Sandor, in this case – you may undress your mistress. Be careful not to tear the fabric in your haste.”

Sandor hissed – and merely a minute later Sansa's dress and his loincloth were history.

They both stumbled to the pool in the caldarium while kissing each other on and on. Then, they clambered into the water.

Hmmmm, it was wonderfully warm! But only a moment later, Sansa Lupusina felt something much warmer deep inside of her. And this time, here body didn't clench. She only emitted a little cry of joy...

 

Sandor Canisius ground himself into her without actually leaving her to move in and out like usually, and Sansa thought she was going cuckoo from the friction; thus, she clung to the big slave with all her might.

After two or three minutes, however, Sandor made a face and rasped: “Too hot in the warm water.”

Sansa Lupusina could only gasp “frigidarium” at him then.

A moment later, he had pulled out and they climbed hastily out of the water.

Then, Sandor objected: “Too far away.”

He grabbed a towel and put it on the ground.

Sansa was confused for a moment... until she was kneeling on the towel and Sandor was behind her. At once, she was reminded of Primus Iofrecus, but unlike him the slave didn't aim for her battered back entrance, no – and next, she could feel Sandor again where she had done so a few heartbeats before.

She mewled and would have liked to moan loudly, but that was too risky for them both.

“Do you know what people say?” Sandor asked between gasps and passionate thrusts.

“What?”

It was becoming difficult for Sansa to talk coherently.

And the scarred slave was teasing her again: “I'll tell you: a look at a teat is sweet – a look at the spine is fine.”

That made Sansa giggle, which in its turn caused them to lose their rhythm, and all too soon Sandor peaked. Before Sansa could be disappointed of not coming herself, however, his calloused fingers were on her body and rubbing her sensitive parts. It was a bit of a trial and error procedure, but after some more minutes Sansa released as well, and her hands were clawing into the tiled floor so heavily that two fingernails broke off.

Afterwards, they were lying on the cold ground together, because they couldn't muster the energy to get up.

Slowly, Sansa mumbled: “Gods, I wish it could stay like this! If only Tivio Auro wasn't coming and surely planning to throw me out of the house!”

Sandor propped himself up then and asked her about her personal situation.

Normally, she wouldn't have talked about this to a slave, but with Sandor it was different. When he heard the details he scowled darkly.

“Mistress, I'll collect the money and valuable goods so that you'll have your dowry's worth in your bedroom. In case of need you'll be able to take everything and to flee swiftly.”

Sansa Lupusina bethought herself: “I've got an uncle in Neapolis, Edmurius Rufus Tullius. I haven't seen him for yours, because I wasn't allowed to travel there, but I could go to him first and move on from there.”

Sandor Canisius's grey eyes were very dark when he answered: “That is a... wise plan to do. And... you must be prepared. Perhaps it won't come to that, which would be the best.”

Sansa sighed: “Yes. – But now, we must make haste. Time is running out. Hand me my clothes, please. I'll try to look my best when the pater familias arrives.”

Sandor nodded.

“That is another wise plan, mistress.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rufus ~ redhead


	8. Chapter 8

 

Two hours later, Tivio Auro Lanistrus and his entourage reached the house. All the servants were waiting in front of the entrance to greet him and the man's relatives from the Baratinus family. Sansa Lupusina and Tirinus Impius were waiting closest to the entrance.

Tivio Auro was an elderly man, bald, apart from his bushy sideburns, but even though Sansa Lupusina hadn't seen him since the day she had left Rome with Primus Iofrecus she thought he didn't look one day older. He was tall and impressive and still as erect as she remembered him. Wearing the costly tunic one could expect of a man who had a seat in the senate he breathed power and exhaled cold seriousness. Sansa shuddered inwardly, but didn't let it show on the outside.

Behind him came Cerisia Aura, her mother in law. When she had last seen her she had been a flawless beauty, but as mean as a poisonous snake. Now, the woman was still extremely good-looking, but the first lines of age could be seen around the eyes – notwithstanding that Cerisia had painted and powdered her face, something that was popular amongst Roman women, but Sansa Lupusina didn't like it overly.

Cerisia's children were there as well. Myrcella Aura was a real fair-haired beauty in the making, like her mother used to be, and it was clear that she'd be married very soon. Tominius Cattus had golden hair, too. He had become even pudgier than Sansa had pictured him in her memory, but luckily, he had retained his friendly face, which set him apart from his mother and grandfather.

Tivio Auro approached them with determined steps. When he reached her, he gave her a cold, curt nod and just said: “Sansa Lupusina.”

Sansa bowed lightly and greeted him with all the politeness the man could expect.

Tivio Auro made another step and spat: “Son.”

It sounded as if he had a rotting egg in his mouth.

Tirinus Impius bowed, too, and made a stoic face as if his father's snide treatment didn't affect him – but Sansa Lupusina knew that deep inside it was different, and she felt sorry for him although surely he didn't want to be pitied.

 

Two hours later, Sansa Luousina was expected in the dining room where the family would have its first meeting and dinner. While they were feasting on the finest delicacies, such as peacock's tongues, for example, Sansa felt as taut as a bowstring.

So far, Tivio Auro had been quite taciturn, and Myrcella and Tominius had done a lot of the talking, telling stories about what was going on in Rome and of which Gladiators had won the latest games, or whether the blues or the reds had won the latest cart race. Cerisia had been drinking quite a bit of wine, Sansa noticed. So had Tirinus Impius, which hardly came as a surprise. There was also some talk of Tivio Auro's second son, Iamicus Manusius Lanistrus, who had stayed in the capital, because he was a member of the shining Praetorian Guard that shielded the Emperor.

At some point, Cerisia Aura smiled sweetly and said: “By the way, you haven't heard the latest news. Our dear Myrcella has been betrothed since you left Rome, brother.”

“How wonderful,” Tirinus answered in his laconic, sarcastic way. “Who is the victim who is stupid enough to marry into our family?”

“Watch your tongue, son. Myrcella is a fine young woman and we are a worthy family. Well, with the exception of you.”

Tirinus lifted his goblet with wine then as if he had been praised, but his bitter snort was telling enough.

Cerisia Aura spoke up again: “Myrcella will marry into the Dornicus family.”

Tirinus clicked his tongue then and answered: “Ahh, always getting the big fish on the hook.”

“Of course, dear brother. And we're looking forward to it. Myrcella won't be a barren bitch.”

Sansa couldn't suppress a little wince.

Tivio Auro reprimanded his daughter then: “You won't use any foul language, daughter. It might fall back on the family. The truth of the content of your words notwithstanding.”

“Of course, father.”

Sansa Lupusina kept quiet, and Tirinus Impius asked his sister if she wanted to visit her son's tomb soon.

Cerisia grew very serious then, and her eyes showed real grief when she answered: “Tomorrow. I only wish I had been there when he fell ill. With the best care he might have survived.”

That was another blow which was aimed at Sansa's integrity.

Sansa then decided that enough was enough.

“Dearest mother, you can ask Pyrcellus Maestrus. I called him at once when my husband caught this fever and he'll confirm we did everything for your son we could.”

Cerisia only hissed back: “This doddering old medicus would support any opinion for the right amount of money, and of course, he's got a reputation to lose.”

“Speaking of money”, Tivio Auro cut in. “Primus Iofrecus bequeathed nothing to you. And since you are of no great use for the family, because you're barren, we have to think about your future, not only about Myrcella's. You'll have to marry again, perhaps an elderly man who already has an heir. In this way, you can at least establish or maintain a connection to another house.”

Now, it was Sansa's turn; she had expected these words and been prepared for them.

She nodded demurely, cast down her eyes and answered: “I have already thought about these things, too. Your family has given me a home in difficult times and despite... my problems. So when the mourning year is over I'll naturally be willing to remarry. Pater Tivio, I'm surprised and happy you are so considerate, knowing that mother Cerisia's remarriage must be far more important to you.”

“WHAT!?” her mother-in-law called, scandalised.

Tivio Auro, however, only lifted an eyebrow.

He asked: “And why would that be so?”

Sansa answered: “Why, she has been widowed for a while and could gain your family better contacts than I ever could with all my deficiencies. And she can still bear a husband children, though her time is slowly running out.”

Tivio Auro Lanistrus gave her a piercing look and retorted with clipped words: “The fate of your mother-in-law is none of your business.”

Sansa uttered a shy apology, but she knew her words had sunk in. She'd have almost a year from now until the pater familias would press the topic of her marriage again – and within a year a lot could happen. In case the worst came to pass and she really had to wed another man she wanted to find someone suitable – but of her own choosing.

For a moment, her thoughts darted back to Sandor Canisius, but this was neither the time nor the place to start daydreaming. Just to prove she wasn't upset she took a honeyed fig and ate it with an appetite she didn't really feel.

 

When they were finally getting up and leaving the table Cerisia cornered her and cuffed her.

“You false, rapacious beast!” she hissed. “You've loaded my son's death on your conscience – or you would have if you had one! And now you think yourself to be so very clever to drive me into another marriage to live off the fat of the land. But I swear you'll not be able to live in peace!”

Sansa stayed calm, although the point of having a bad conscience or not was nearly entertaining, given that it was raised by Cerisia Aura.

“Just in case you haven't noticed, 'mother': I have inherited nothing. The pater familias was right about that. What he was saying was in my best interest as well.”

“Pfft, I've seen through your charade. No need to set up a mummery for me any more.”

With a billowing dress Cerisia Aura rushed out of the room.

 

Later, Tivio Auro called Sansa to the inner yard for a private conversation.

“Sansa Lupusina, we need to talk,” he started. The man was as cold as usual, but at least not as hostile as his daughter.

“Pater.”

They started to walk down the colonnades of the peristylum, and her grandfather-in-law clasped his hands on his back.

“I've received a proposal for your hand.”

Sansa stood stock-still in shock.

“Whose?”

“ Petrus Pecunius Baelisius's.”

Sansa turned as white as the chalked wall behind her.

With an effort she managed to say: “His position is too low, and he wouldn't be a reliable ally for you.”

Tivio Auro snorted then: “As if there were any reliable allies. That's just a wet dream of a simpleton of an honourable man. True enough, Petrus Pecunius is no very good match for you, but then again you can't expect to find a worthy husband with your deficiencies, and at least he's rich.”

Sansa Lupusina spoke plainly then: “I will not marry him. Find me another man if you think I have to take another husband.”

“And why should I do that? It's nearly impossible to find someone better, at least here in Pompeii, and I certainly don't want to have you back in Rome.”

“If you marry me to Petrus Pecunius I'll kill him, and before my execution I'll spread the word it was on your orders. What good would that do to the reputation of your family?”

“Aaaa, so this is where the wind is blowing from. Good. Let me see. I'll find you a different man then. And I think I have an idea. You'll marry my son. It's not so very likely that people would believe I'd kill my own offspring.”

Sansa Lupusina was confused now.

“But Iamicus is in Rome and you said you didn't want me...”

“I'm talking of Tirinus Impius, silly! He'd barely find another wife and he doesn't need to have any children. Iamicus – I can't believe it. He's far too good for someone like you.”

Sansa felt incredibly sick now.


	9. Chapter 9

 

Somewhere around midnight Sansa Lupusina was still awake and sobbing into her cushion silently. On returning to her chamber she had noticed that Sandor Canisius had already started to collect some goods and money she had brought into the marriage with Primus Iofrecus. That he knew so well what had originally been hers was surprising, and it told her that he had paid much more attention to her in the past than she to him. Still, several items were missing, and he'd need more time to collect them without anybody noticing. She could only hope that her grandfather-in-law would respect the mourning year before she really had to escape.

Tirinus Impius probably wasn't the worst member of his family and they had gotten along well enough, but Sansa Lupusina knew she couldn't give herself to him in an intimate way. Some funny chit-chat, some eloquent discussion, yes, support as some sort of friend... possibly, though only if absolutely necessary. But the marriage bed? Never. Ever. No, she had to flee when the time came.

Sansa didn't want to leave, didn't want to run away. Pompeii had became the place where she had come together with Sandor Canisius. She didn't want to leave her lover behind. Oh, it would have been possible to sell him elsewhere if she could produce enough money for the Baratinus family afterwards. That was what she had done with some of those slaves who had hit her on Iofrecus's orders, and she had bought new, good slaves instead. She could also have the bath painted as long as nobody objected. But taking a slave away from the family without compensation was not possible. Tivio Auro would have her – or rather them – hunted down in that case, no matter where they headed.

Apart from that, she couldn't force Sandor to flee with her. They had given each other pleasure, yes, but a risky escape was probably not what he wanted. The problem was that without his help she'd be unable to flee. Sansa stifled another sob in the darkness.

Suddenly, she heard the door open. It happened almost noiselessly. A shadow even darker than the night crept into the room.

 

Sansa Lupusina got a major shock. Was Cerisia planning to have her murdered?

She was just about to scream when she recognized the huge size and massive shape of the body. Sandor Canisius! He had stolen into her bedroom!

The slave slipped into her bed so noiselessly that it was surprising for such a big man.

Under his breath he rasped angrily into her ear: “So the pretty mistress has been sentenced to lifelong marriage again, is that it? And this time it'll be Master Halfman who'll fuck you, won't it?”

“Sandor Canisius! You're forgetting your position!” Sansa reprimanded him.

The slave snorted and answered: “Only some hours ago I was of the opinion my position was between your legs.”

Sansa Lupusina had endured the tension and the humiliations of the day, and now, the ends of her nerves were frayed. That was the only thing that could explain her reaction; she slapped him in the face and hissed: “Don't reproach me with something I had no saying in! And I won't marry Tirinus Impius. I'll run away with my dowry.”

On hearing that, Sandor Canisius, who wasn't impressed by his ear having been cuffed, stiffened.

“And how does the pretty mistress intend to do that? Does she think it'll be easy to flee? What has she planned? To fly away like a little bird?”

Sansa was really angry now: “Don't treat me as if I was daft! I'll have some months to arrange things. And, of course, I'll need some help. The question is: whose? If the position between my legs is all that you want – you can leave as well. I'd have liked to have you at my side, but if self-righteousness is all that you know...”

She didn't get any further. Sandor pressed his mouth onto hers and rolled himself on top of her body so that Sansa couldn't utter any further sound. As it seemed the slave wanted to show her that the position he already knew was a very pleasant one. His male, musky, rich scent engulfed her. Gods!

Sansa's fury fizzled out instantaneously. Her despair about the marriage that had been planned for her changed into pure need for consolation – consolation that had to be conveyed via lust.

Without further ado Sandor Canisius pushed up her thin shift, and she tore away his loincloth. When he took her anew she gasped into his mouth. Now that he was where they both wanted him to be he got a firm grip on himself.

Nobody should hear regular thrusting movements or loud moans outside or next door. So Sandor kept pushing into her slowly, and they both stifled each other's ecstatic sounds. This, however, was getting increasingly difficult.

Sweet Venus! Sansa Lupusina had never known that this kind of act could be sososo incredibly good! It was as if liquid fire was streaming through her veins. That they were keeping the rhythm slow prolonged the whole affair and drove her nuts from sheer joy. How could she possibly give herself to another man than him!? That was impossible!

Finally, she frantically grabbed a cushion and put it in front of her face. Her body erupted in a wild explosion and her lust washed all self-control away. She couldn't keep quiet and moaned, but luckily the fabric she was clutching muffled the sound.

Sandor continued pumping into her overly sensitive body, and Sansa was beyond everything now. At long last, the slave released as well, and his slackening body sank onto hers, knocking all the air out of her lungs. He needed a few seconds until he noticed her agitated pushing, but then he slid down next to her immediately.

After a moment, he murmured: “As if I could ever give this up. If the sweet mistress wants to fly away I'll come along with her. I can keep you safe, you know. I may be nothing but a miserable dog, but a dog will die for you and never lie to you.”

Sansa stroked the dense pelt on his chest, trailed with her hands down the line of hair to his private parts, put her hand around his – now soft – manhood and whispered mischievously: “I can't find anything miserable in you.”

“You're blind then, sweet mistress, but I won't complain.”

No more hushed sentences were spoken that night – but there were many other telling sounds, stifled as they were. Sandor only left her one or two hours before dawn. Sansa was relieved he had slept three hours or so in her arms, otherwise he'd be completely exhausted all day long, something that was not good for a slave.

Her body was still tingling from his lustful caresses when she finally fell asleep again, and she dozed till about lunchtime, not feeling guilty at all. Not about Sandor Canisius. She'd never be ashamed of him, of enjoying and sharing a passion with him. And probably, it would grow into more than a passion. Who knew. Sansa Lupusina smiled tiredly and went to sleep.

 

After she had finally risen she received some nasty remarks from Cerisia Aura for getting up so late, but Sansa Lupusina shrugged and answered that she wasn't accustomed to the busy Roman rhythm of life any longer – and her mother-in-law spat back that Sansa had never known a busy rhythm since she had no children and no big household to lead. The snide comment didn't hurt Sansa like it would have done in the past.

After all, Tirinus Impius appeared even half an hour later than her, and he looked once more as if he was suffering from a major hangover.

“Ah, lovely Sansa, are you already tuning in to my way of living?” he mocked her in a friendly tone when he noticed she was having a late breakfast, too.

“The pater familias has talked to you?”

“About our future marriage? Sure. Though he doesn't even know how to lift the corners of his mouth nothing would give Tivio Auro more pleasure – of the mischievous sort – than to rub this information in on me.”

Tirinus sighed.

An awkward silence fell between them.

After a long, uncomfortable moment, Sansa Lupusina smiled in new-found sarcasm: “And we had thought we could enjoy our freedom. A wedding won't improve our relationship. Quite the contrary.”

Tirinus shot her a surprised glance and asked: “Enjoy our freedom? Enjoy in which way?”

Sansa blushed a little and coughed a little laugh: “No husband to forbid me to go to the temple, to find and meet some friends, no husband to tell me to do this and that, the freedom to wear a hair band in the colour I like, the freedom not to allow HIS friends into the house...”

Suddenly, Tirinus looked at her with his mismatched eyes and appeared to be very sad. He waddled over to her on his short legs and patted her hand as if he wanted to comfort her.

“Sansa, you're so easy to content. I promise that you'll keep these liberties once we're wed.”

She returned the sad smile and asked: “Does the liberty to not do this or that include that I won't have so sleep with you?”

What she didn't ask was: “Would you allow me to keep fucking a slave who dislikes you?”

But even though she only voiced the first question Tirinus Impius looked suddenly hurt and answered: “Ah, the ugly dwarf is nice enough to chat with, but too homely to fuck. Well, I guess I can count myself lucky I'm used to whore's attentions already – in this case, I guess I won't have to change my customs.”

Sansa Lupusina cut in now: “It has nothing to do with handsomeness, I swear. I couldn't accept your good-looking brother Iamicus either. Not... not after... Iofrecus... if you understand my meaning.”

Tirinus Impius looked up at her then as if he understood all too well and growled under his breath: “Damned bastard!”


	10. Chapter 10

 

The next few days turned out to be easier for Sansa than she had imagined. Tivio Auro Lanistrus always got up early, checked on new messages for him from Rome and then went away to the forum or to the public baths for political contacts. He never came back before the late evening.

Cerisia Aura often took her children to the theatre or met some loose friends or old acquaintances, she spent long hours in front of Primus Iofrecus's tomb every day and she went to the public baths with her children as well, clearly scorning the baths in the house.

After their talk Tirinus tried to avoid Sansa by passing even more time with Bronnus – and his rugged friend was clearly delighted, because Tirinus was a lusty man... and generous when it came to drink and food and women.

In this way, Sansa and Sandor found more secret intimate moments than they could have hoped for. The baths were often their meeting point, sometimes dark corners behind bushes in the walled back garden – Sansa learned that it could be as scratchy as arousing to be taken against a wall – and when Sandor Canisius wasn't too tired he came to her bed in the middle of the night.

Often, they had to hurry and they could only show each other in a non-verbal way: “Yes, I'm where I want to be and where I want to have you.”

What was first arousing, but unnerving soon was that they had to keep quiet. Especially when they were losing control they both wanted to moan and to scream, Sansa burned to tell him she wanted more, wanted it deeper, faster – something she had never expected she would feel the need to say... and now, she was getting frustrated.

At least looking at each other's body offered no initial risks – only when they started to drink each other in they couldn't keep their hands and mouths off each other.

At night, Sandor Canisius became markedly better at pleasuring her with his half-burned mouth and started to know how to touch her so she got the most out of it, for the longest possible period of time – and he got to know exactly when he had to start to stifle her lustful sounds. Sometimes, Sansa informed him what she'd like best, and apart from the fact that he had to obey her as a slave he seemed to like her ideas anyway and to share her preferences, which made things a lot easier.

 

One night, she even whispered she wanted to try the position she had hated most with Primus Iofrecus.

“I want his nightmares to hold no more power over me, Sandor.”

The huge slave kissed her between the shoulder blades then and murmured with his raspy voice: “The sweet mistress is strong.”

It caused Sansa Lupusina to smile into the darkness.

When Sandor entered her back opening he had prepared her there with lemon oil, and he was as gentle as possible. Her bad experiences and his size made the task at hand difficult once more, so Sandor grabbed around her and started to stroke her sensitive parts. In the end, Sansa could accept him. It would likely never become a position she'd cherish overly, after all that had happened, but it was good to know there was nothing more to fear from this way of making love.

Later, they lay together and Sandor had wrapped his strong arms around her. It was then that Sansa realised that her feelings had become deeper than the ones you could expect in an affair. She had started to trust her heart to this man. If only he were free, a nobleman in a good position! But this was idle thinking.

No, for the time being, they had to accept the situation the way it was – and to change it into something better.

Sandor Canisius had seemingly had the same thoughts, for he whispered into her ear: “The dowry of my pretty mistress is complete now. Should I start to organise our escape?”

“Yes. Absolutely so.”

 

Two days later, the majordomo slave, a bald, elderly man named Lucius approached Sansa Lupusina and told her with servile looks and gestures: “Mistress, one of the slaves, Sandor Canisius, has been very unreliable, unmotivated and slow of late. He often disappears at night and is late in the morning, so we think he has got some kind of... of slut whose bed he visits regularly, unbelievable as it is for such a disgusting, ugly man.”  
Sansa swallowed her own spit and coughed – and Lucius apologised hastily for having to speak of those things in her presence.  
When Sansa Lupusina had recovered she answered: “Thank you for your information, Lucius. I'll sort Sandor Canisius out at some point and I'll punish him adequately, rest assured.”  
When the majordomo slave had bowed and left a tiny, but very meaningful smile played on Sansa Lupusina's lips...

 

When she crossed Sandor's way in a corridor she mumbled into his direction: “Tonight.”  
That was all the information that was needed.  
After sunset – and another awkward dinner with Cerisia Aura and her children – Sansa retired to her bedroom, feigning a wish to do some needlework, and her stepmother was happy enough to see her go. So Sansa went to her chamber and started to prepare some accessories. She was so excited that her heart was nearly jumping out of her chest and she could barely wait for her favourite slave to enter.  
Much, much later, when she was already on the verge of going nuts, the door finally opened and Sandor entered.  
“Mistress,” he whispered.  
Sansa Lupusina waved him to come closer, though the gesture was hardly discernible in the darkness, but Sandor Canisius could see well at night, she knew.  
She was sitting on the bed and mouthed: “Kneel.”  
Sandor hesitated for a split second, then obeyed and knelt right in front of her and in front of the bed.  
Sansa Lupusina bowed forward a little and murmured: “There have been complaints about you, Sandor. About your motivation. Lucius isn't content with your work. So it looks as if you have to be punished.”  
The huge slave in front of her stiffened and rasped under his breath: “Mistress!?”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the special warning tags with regard to sexuality especially refer to the upcoming chapter.

 

Sansa smiled and went on: “Perhaps you want to show me how strong your motivation is?”

 

Sandor Canisius grunted and signalled in this way he had understood.

 

He was still kneeling, and now it was him who leaned forward to where she was sitting, took her legs, draped them over his shoulders and set to work with his mouth. Sansa Lupusina gasped silently. Ah, yes, this was good! Holy Venus, how he had learned! He was slow and devoted and gave her the feeling he had never tasted anything batter than her.

 

After a while, she was so incredibly aroused that her torso sank back onto the mattress, but Sandor's grip on her thighs and hips kept her lower parts firm in place. Gods, how could such a big man carry out such sensitive, delicious little moves down there with his lips and tongue and even teeth! On and on it went, and her lust turned into joyous agony. Ooooh, she needed to pay him pack, Sansa thought fleetingly – before she stopped thinking at all and started to buck into the slave's mouth. A moment later, she grabbed her cushion and pressed it in front of her face like so often to stifle the moan that went along with sweet release.

 

A moment later, when Sansa Lupusina had recovered a little, Sandor let her legs slide off his shoulders and growled: “Now do tell me, pretty mistress: is this slave motivated enough?”

 

Sansa was still panting a little, and she breathed: “So far I've only noticed that your mouth is as motivated as the language in it is rough. But an active mouth is certainly not sufficient to fulfil your duties.”

 

Without further ado Sansa stood up, took hold of Sandor's body and pushed him onto the bed. Naturally, Sandor was much stronger than her and could have resisted her easily, but he seemed to know better than to refuse a mistress what she wanted from him. So he lay there in the dark, seemingly waiting for her body to cover him.

 

A grin emerged on Sansa's lips. The man was still completely unsuspecting. My, she would have never thought that anything she had learned from Primus Iofrecus could actually ever come in handy, but now it did.

 

Sansa walked over to a little basket and retrieved from it what she needed now. Then, she snatched Sandor Canisius's right calloused hand.

 

“Does the mistress want to hold hands?” the slave asked, confused.

 

Sansa giggled. Far from it, charming as the idea was. Only an instant later, she had bound Sandor's hand to the bedpost with a strong rope and made a tight knot that she knew would hold, even if the man in her bed would start to fight.

 

“Fuck, mistress what are you doing?”

 

But Sansa had no time to answer, grabbed the second hand and bound it to the other bedpost.

 

Slowly, Sandor was getting nervous, but before he could really panic she had fixated his feet as well. Sansa would have loved to see him sprawled on her bed like that in broad daylight, but she couldn't be picky now.

 

“Bloody Styx, what do you want from me, woman?”

 

Sansa licked her lips and opened the knot that was holding Sandor's loincloth. Mmmmh, there was the dark shadow of his erect manhood.

 

“You have served me nicely, Sandor, so I'll reward you a little bit.”

 

Without losing any more words she dipped her head and licked along his shaft slowly from base to tip – three times exactly. Sandor gasped.

 

Then, Sansa sat back and murmured into his ear: “And now, I'm going to punish you for not being motivated with regard to normal work around Lucius.”

 

 

 

That was the exact moment when Sandor Canisius got anxious and tested the ropes around his limbs for the first time – and was increasingly edgy when he found out that in spite of his enormous strength he wouldn't be able to free himself easily.

 

“Mistress!?” he rasped on alert.

 

Sansa bowed over him and kissed him slowly and deeply on the mouth to appease him. Then, she moved to her basket again and retrieved a puff Roman women liked to use to apply make-up... only Sansa had never used it, because she didn't like to paint her face. But now, the puff would serve a much sweeter purpose!

 

Gently, she stroked with it along the slave's arms.

 

Puzzled, Sandor Canisius looked in her direction, even if not much could be seen in the darkness, and growled: “And what is this rubbish supposed to be about?”

 

Sansa didn't answer, but smiled and continued to caress him. After a minute or two of grumpy silence Sandor seemed to understand the concept, and he relaxed to accept the inevitable. To and fro the puff danced on his skin, up and down his body, and Sansa realised how the huge man noticed he had more sensitive spots than he would have deemed credible: his armpits, the ridges where his chest muscles ended, his belly button, the hollows of the knees, the insides of his thighs...

 

There was no mistaking that Sandor Canisius's lust was surging ever more. And that she didn't touch him where he certainly needed to be touched made him fidgety.

 

Sansa finally put the puff away and kissed him again. He all but fucked her mouth with his tongue, there was no other way to describe his ravishing hunger. Ah, that was good!

 

Slowly, however, her mouth left his and started to feast on the rest of his body. She followed with her lips exactly those paths she had prepared with the puff.

 

Sandor was already covered by the lightest sheen of sweat, and the saltiness together with his male aroma was dizzying. Finally, her mouth wandered up his inner thighs, and it was pretty clear how Sandor Canisius's heartbeat was hammering away. She raised her head a little – and then, she BREATHED on his manhood.

 

Sandor hissed and then he commented angrily: “Does the mistress want to kill me? I'm dying!”

 

Sansa chuckled lightly and purred into his ear: “Oh, that mustn't happen. Let's do something against it.”

 

The only thing was that Sansa Lupusina knew exactly that in his state her wonderfully aroused slave wouldn't last long once she'd sink onto him. So what could she do?

 

Once more, she found out that a piece of knowledge she had gathered with her first husband could be of help here. Primus Iofrecus had had some problems with his erections: either he wouldn't stay hard or he'd come to soon. So he had used a trick to make his body obey his dirty intentions; he had bound a string around the base of his hard shaft. So here and now...

 

Quickly, Sansa Lupusina darted to the basket a third time and fished a hair ribbon out of it. Then, she returned to the bed.

 

“What now, wolfish mistress?”

 

 

 

Sansa suppressed a giggle and whispered, grinning widely: “I think you need some decoration. What about a nice little bow in the right place?”

 

“Bleeding Styx, woman, you don't want to say you wan to to braid my pubic hair, do you!?”

 

This time, Sansa could barely stifle her sounds of levity.

 

Even so, she slung the ribbon around his manhood as she had intended.

 

“Ouch! That's too tight! Mistress, what's that supposed to mean?”

 

“It's supposed to give us a little more time.”

 

Sandor was still undecided whether he liked the device or not, so Sansa Lupusina didn't fool around any longer, positioned herself adequately and sank down on him.

 

They both gasped, and the huge man under her started to buck into her as best he could in his predicament. Sansa was absolutely delighted, and her sensitive spot rubbed over the knot and bow she had made, so she was being stimulated beyond her usual way.

 

Sandor Canisius was getting really wild and desperate now, because he wanted to release and couldn't. Oh – just a little more, just a little, yes, yes, good... And then, stars erupted in front of Sansa's eyes, and she sank onto the big man under her and bit his shoulder to stifle her moan. Her peak and her nip drove Sandor insane.

 

While still pumping into her like mad he pleaded: “Mistress! Sansa! PLEASE!”

 

Oh holy Venus, she couldn't react at once, because she was still so overly sensitive, and he was so wild that she simply came a second time. Only then was she so spent that she was able to let her hand sneak down between their bodies and to pull the bow open.

 

Sandor Canisius uttered something like a sob – and exploded so heavily that Sansa could feel his spurts again and again inside of her. She hadn't known that a man could produce so much liquid, and they'd have quite a job to clean up that mess, but for the moment, it didn't matter.

 

Under her Sandor had gone slack... and fallen asleep within a minute, although he was still being bound. Sansa smiled, lay still for a while and allowed herself to feel him a little longer, though he had gone limp. Finally, she moved off him and cut his bindings.

 

Sandor Canisius woke up again, though he was still groggy, and mumbled: “Sweet mistress, I think I can't make love to you for the next two or three days.”

 

Sansa Lupusina rubbed her nose against his huge, hooked one and murmured back: “Don't you worry. I've just been overwhelmed as well.”

 

Suddenly, she felt shy. They had reached a new level of intimacy.

 

“Sandor?”

 

“Yes, mistress?”

 

“You're wonderful. You're the only man I'll ever want.”

 

 

 

They had clung to each other and embraced for a long time. Finally, Sandor Canisius had cleaned up the mess they had caused with their passion and eradicated all treacherous hints; next, he left shortly before dawn, and once more, Sansa had been surprised that such a big man could be so stealthy. She had lain awake afterwards and thought about what had happened between them – and about what the future might bring.

 

If his behaviour this night had shown her anything, then it was that the scarred slave cared even more for her than she would have thought. She rolled onto her front side and inhaled where he had been fixated with his massive body. Hmmm! A bit of his scent was still lingering in the cushion.

 

“I can't live without him”, she had to admit to herself. “But Gods, if we really run away together it will be me who'll be his slave, not the other way round.”

 

Somehow, that idea didn't frighten her much.

 

“I don't want him to be a slave any more. He's so independent. Such a strong man – in every way! I want him to be free. And to be mine of his own accord. As I'd want to be his.”

 

Sansa Lupusina had grown up with slavery, and no-one she knew had ever questioned it... but suddenly, she couldn't help herself. Yes, there were some slaves who arranged themselves with their lot easily and were even content. But there was so much injustice in the system. Whether you became a house or a field slave or a worker in a mine or on a galley – it was a matter of luck. Whether you had a friendly owner or a monster like Primus Iofrecus, who even forced himself upon you – again Fortuna's choice. And just how different was a subjugated woman from a slave, male or female? She herself hadn't had any freedom in her marriage.

 

How strange, she had never thought about the similarities. But with Sandor's help she had grown. Could slaves grow, too, once they were given freedom? Well, Sandor probably wouldn't need to change much; his mind was unruly, he had not always been a slave, and it would be easy for him to adapt.

 

In fact, he'd make it easier for her to adapt, too.

 

Yes. She really wanted to run away with him, and she wanted to live at his side, wanted to be on equal terms with him. That thought made her happy, and at long last, Sansa Lupusina drifted off to sleep.

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

The next day, at the end of dinner, Myrcella asked her if she had had any nightmares, because she had heard disturbing sounds from her room.

Holy Iuppiter! It was sheer luck that Cerisia Aura didn't overhear her words and that the girl in front of her was still so innocent that she couldn't classify the rumpling and the moans.

“Well, Myrcella, I've seen many bad things in my life. My family died in the amphitheatre. Is it a wonder that some memories bother me?”

Well. At least it wasn't a complete lie. She did have nightmares because of the past from time to time.  
“Oh Sansa, I'm sorry to hear that. Perhaps you should consult the local healer? I know that mother doesn't think highly of Pyrcellus Maestrus, but perhaps...”

“Myrcella, come over her! At once! You mustn't talk to this red-haired, barren legacy hunter, that is absolutely below your dignity! You'll be a married woman soon, and well-married. You don't want to have any contact with HER.”

The young girl averted her face from Cerisia Aura, who was nagging from the other side of the dining-room, and screwed her eyes heavenwards. So even if Cerisia's slander hurt her, by having an accomplice the pain was much less intense: First, Sansa was shown just how exaggerated those insults were, and that others didn't necessarily believe them – and second, she wouldn't have to endure these affronts much longer.

Sandor was on a good way. They had her dowry, and now, he had found a smuggler who would ship them along the coast of the Golf of Neapolis to the Roman city where Sansa's uncle Edmurius Rufus Tullius lived.

Sansa Lupusina picked at her food. She had been nervous for so long that she couldn't get down much any more these days. Unnerved, she pushed her plate to the side, rose from her divan and excused herself.

Tirinus Impius, who had not gone out yet for once, hopped to the ground and followed her.

“Sansa,” he addressed her and took her hand, “you look unwell. Don't let my sister's venom torment you like that. She's angry, even more so since you told our dear pater familias she'd have to marry again. And now, she has heard that he is conferring with some Valdus Antiquus Freyus about marrying one of his sons. That bit weighs heavily on her mind.”

Sansa Lupusina breathed out and answered: “I hope you don't expect me to pity her. She's just called me a legacy hunter.”

Tirinus squeezed her hand: “No, I can understand you. Better go to sleep now. The family's presence has worn you out, I can see that.”

“Thank you for cheering me up, Tirinus.”

They parted and Sansa went to her chamber. Yes, her interim-betrothed was quite right. She felt really bad and needed some rest. Hopefully, Sandor would come later and just hold her a little. Sandor...

Suddenly, Sansa, who had already thrown herself onto the bed, shot up again, her eyes widening in sudden understanding.

GODS! How long had it been? How long... Oh holy Iuppiter! Oh my!

Like a bolt of lightening, it hit her, and she understood the true reason for her listlessness: she was with child! Sandor's child!

 

Now, Sansa Lupusina was really in uproar. Her hand flew to her belly. She felt dread and incredible joy at the same time. On the positive side, she could be sure now that she wasn't barren. And to have a child whose father was Sandor – in the strangest possible way it felt so absolutely right, in spite of the fact that she was a widow and Sandor Canisius just a lowly slave. At the same time, however, she feared that things might go wrong: that she might miscarry, that the Auro and Baratinus family might find out about her situation, that she might be thrown out of the house before she could escape with her dowry and, most of all, with Sandor.

For a moment, Sansa wanted to seek him out, but then she thought better of it. In her state Cersei, Tivio and Tirinus would detect easily that something was strange. So she undressed, laid back and waited, impatient as she was.

After a long time, she finally heard the door. A moment later, Sandor Canisius's huge form slipped silently into her bed. Like usual, he was only wearing his loincloth, and it was a physical relief to feel his skin on hers.

“What's wrong with my pretty mistress?”

Oh! That he'd notice so easily that something was in the air, despite the darkness, told her how well he had come to know her.

Sansa Lupusina opened the knots of the loincloth and felt his hardness.

“You have recovered sooner than we both thought, Sandor.”

“Might be.”

So Sansa wrapped a leg around his middle and whispered into his burned ear: “Come.”

The slave didn't need to be told twice, positioned himself accordingly and slid into her with a smooth thrust.

They both gasped slightly. Oh, it was so good to have him that close!

“Mmmmh! Is my mistress in a more tender mood today?”

“Yes! Oh yes!”

This time, they were slow, deliberate. Sandor was enjoying himself mightily, and it made Sansa happy. He came silently and sank onto her for a moment until he rolled around.

“You haven't come, mistress,” he mumbled.

“No. But it was wonderful nevertheless.”

“Something is different with you tonight, mistress. What's the matter?”

Sansa Lupusina sighed and nuzzled the slave's slightly sweaty chest hair with her nose.

“Sandor, can we flee tomorrow? Or the day after?”

She felt his muscles tighten under her.

“So soon? What has happened?”

“I've found out that we need to leave at once.”

“But why? Has the pater familias told you that you have to marry Tirinus next week?”

“No. Sandor... Sandor... I'm... we'll... I think...”

“Why are you stuttering like that? Spit it out, for Styx's sake!”

“Sandor. – I'm. With. Child.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There have already been assumptions about the topic so to those it may refer... yes, you've been absolutely right to expect this to happen. :-)


	13. Chapter 13

 

For a moment, Sandor stiffened – apart from that... no reaction. Sansa felt hurt, but then, she remembered that her own first reaction had not been one of exuberant joy either.

 

“You aren't jesting, are you, mistress?” Sandor finally uttered.

 

“No, I'm not. I'm not barren, unlike everything my dead husband ever said.”

 

“I knew you weren't. How long... I mean... it's not his, is it?”

 

“Gods no! You're the father!” Sansa breathed in shock.

 

Since she had bled normally after his death, she had not even thought that theoretically, the baby might still be ascribed to Primus Iofrecus.

 

Determinedly, she took the slave's hand and put it on her still flat belly.

 

“This is OUR child.”

 

Again, Sandor was very quiet, but his breathing was heavy.

 

“He's still unable to cope with these news!” Sansa thought and cupped his cheek. It was wet.

 

 

 

Suddenly, the tall man spoke in a hushed, grating voice: “Mistress – we'll leave tonight. Master Tivio Auro has already returned and is asleep. Everything has been arranged, I only didn't think we'd have to be so quick. Come, let's pack your things. We need to get to the beach and to wake the man who is going to smuggle us to Neapolis in his boat.”

 

“What, now?”

 

“Yes. Those were my words.”

 

Again, Sansa felt hurt and missed a more positive reaction on Sandor Canisius's side, but her intellect realised that this was his way of grappling with the news. He was a man of action, and it was some kind of protective instinct that was jumping into action, not some lack of enthusiasm about her pregnancy.

 

They both got up and packed a knapsack with Sansa Lupusina's clothes. Not that it was much – Primus Iofrecus had never allowed her many fine robes; instead, he had spent his money for his own needs. Even so, it wasn't quite so easy to gather everything together, because they had no light.

 

After the clothes came three little pouches with money and jewellery – Sansa's dowry. She had also brought silver plates and goblets into the marriage, but unfortunately, those items could not be transported easily and would have to be left behind on Sansa's bed. Had they had more time things might have been easier, and perhaps they could have saved more objects.

 

With a grim sense of humour Sansa whispered: “Let's hope Tivio Auro will understand these plates and goblets as some kind of compensation for taking you away.”

 

Sandor Canisius snorted and murmured back: “That's a damned illusion, sweet mistress. Apart from that – I had estimated I was worth more.”

 

Ah! So his rough humour was finally showing up again!

 

In the dark, Sansa leaned her cheek against his heavily-muscled chest.

 

“Oh Sandor! I could never pay an adequate sum for you – you're priceless for me!”

 

And finally, finally, his arms went around her body, and he crushed her against him so she could barely breathe any more. He was no man of sweet-talk, and somehow, it was fitting that he didn't make many words in this situation either.

 

In the end, however, he did say something: “Will you come with me now, mistress? I'll keep you safe.”

 

“Yes, lead the way, Sandor. With you at my side I'll neither sway nor falter.”

 

 

 

The house lay dormant. They tiptoed to a back entrance. For Sansa Lupusina it was surprising once more that Sandor Canisius could move so quietly in spite of his size.

 

The slave opened the door, which didn't creak at all. Sansa guessed that Sandor had oiled the hinges recently to guarantee their escape. They stepped outside and closed the door again carefully.

 

“No need to attract attention any sooner than absolutely necessary by leaving a door open,” Sandor murmured. “Right, mistress, and now we have to walk to the sea. No litter tonight, and the hooves of a horse or a mule would be too loud. Master Tivio Auro has got a light sleep. If his room had been next to yours he'd have found out about us.”

 

Sansa Lupusina shivered and didn't even want to imagine what that could have meant.

 

Together, they stole down the cobbled street and tried to stay in the shadows as best they could. A few times, they passed some ruins that dated back to an earthquake that had occurred years before, but they didn't pose an obstacle. Sansa and Sandor also kept well away from the brothels.

 

“We don't need to stumble into Tirinus Impius's drunk face, just in case he's on his way home from a late fuck.”

 

Sansa winced a little on hearing this, but nodded at the wisdom of the words.

 

Sandor was carrying their belongings. It was a mild night, and Sansa was relieved about that. When they arrived at the seaside Sansa was panting. The constant roll of the waves onto the shore could be discerned clearly, and it was a soothing sound.

 

“Everything all right, mistress?” Sandor asked, suddenly worried.

 

“Oh yes, I'm just not very fit. As you've put it so well: no litter tonight.”

 

The scarred slave uttered a grunt and directed her towards a shabby little hut.

 

“Wait here. I'll be back in a moment. You can come closer when you hear me whistle. If there's any danger: take this and run. ”

 

He pressed a little knife into her hand. Next, he walked to the hut, and Sansa Lupusina could hear him hammer with his fists on the wood. Some moments later, she noticed a creaking noise. A man with a drowsy voice was conferring with Sandor. Oh, hopefully everything would work out nicely!

 

Suddenly, there was a whistle. How very good! It meant she could approach the hut, too.

 

The smuggler's features couldn't be recognised clearly in the dark, but it was clear that the man was past the prime of his youth. Sandor waved her to come closer.

 

“This is Davos Oninius Bonaquas. He has agreed to transport us to Neapolis.”

 

“Pleased to meat you, Sansa Lupusina Baratinus. Your slave has just paid for the passage. We only have to shove my little boat into the water. I wasn't expecting you tonight.”

 

Sansa was relieved; the man sounded trustworthy.

 

“The pleasure is on my side, Davos Oninius. Sandor, will you help the man with the boat?”

 

“Of course I will, mistress.”

 

Mere minutes later they were in the water, and they were heading for Neapolis.

 

“I assume that you know the coastline well enough, Davos Oninius?”

 

The smuggler chuckled: “Like the back of my hand.”

 

Then, they were quiet. There was nothing more to say. Sansa was wearing a light coat, but the night's air was warm enough, so she took it off, bundled it and used it as a cushion. For a moment, she gazed back to Pompeii and saw the even darker silhouette of the Vesuvius against the dark sky. For the first time, she allowed herself to breathe deeply. The first step of their flight had been successful!

 

Finally, exhaustion after the long night took the better of her. She placed her head on the makeshift cushion, felt the soft rocking movements of the water, listened to its constant murmur... and moments later, she was sound asleep.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last update of this story in 2013. I wish you all a good start into the new year. Finale of this story on New Year's Day. :-)


	14. Chapter 14

 

She awoke again when the boat told her with a crunching sound that it had reached the beach where they would go ashore. The sun had well risen into the sky. Sansa Lupusina discovered that they had landed in a secluded little bay off Neapolis, and for Sansa Lupusina it was clear that Davos Oninios used it regularly for his smuggling activities.

“I've got a friend here,” he declared. “He'll rent you a mule and a horse. No fancy animals, but fair enough for your cause. When you reach the city there is a stable where you can leave them, the business belongs to his brother.”

Sandor Canisius was tired after the long, sleepless night, she could see it clearly; yet, he behaved as if it was nothing, he jumped into the shallow water where the boat had hit the soft ground, took her in his arms and carried her to where her feet would stay dry. Sansa's heart went out to her scarred man.

Behind them, Davos Oninius was carrying their belongings until he could hand the things back to Sandor on the beach, and next, he motioned them to follow him.

The owner of the animals they had been promised turned out to be a rough man, and he looked as if he was from one of the faraway southern provinces; but he was a free man, no slave, and a very proud fellow at that. With a thick accent he introduced himself as Racharus Dotracus Equus and told them that they should ask for Drogos Dotracus Calus's stable to return the mule and the horse after their arrival in Neapolis.

The man was paid duly and they were just about to say goodbye to him and to Davos Oninius – when suddenly, the ground shook and quivered.

“An earthquake!” the smuggler called, shocked. “Fast! Uphill! When there's an earthquake there can be high waves from the sea – I've already seen something like that! UP!”

They all rushed up a hill at top speed, animals included.

Then, Sandor rasped: “Bleeding Styx! Look over there! To Pompeii! The Vesuvius!”

Three heads whipped around to where the slave was looking, and Sansa breathed: “Oh holy Iuppiter! The whole mountain must be aflame! Look at that incredible cloud of smoke!”

Davos was trembling.

“Gods! How very good to know that my wife and the children are on a family visit in Neapolis! I hope the hut and everything will be fine when we return.”

Racharus Dotracus Equus shook his head again and again in unprecedented fear and mumbled: “That is wrath of gods! Gods angry! Punish with fire! It is known!”

Even Sandor Canisius was pallid now; experienced a man as he was he had never seen such a spectacle yet – and the idea of a burning mountain was certainly a particular kind horror for a man who had been burned like him.

 

A few moments later, they found out that they had been wise to run away from the sea. Like Davos Oninius had predicted a huge wave crashed onto the beach.

“My boat!” the smuggler called in despair.

“My hut!” Racharo shouted alongside with his friend.

Sandor Canisius spoke up: “Bugger the boat and the hut! You're alive! We're alive!”

Then, he turned to Sansa Lupusina and took her in his arms. She had started to weep.

“Imagine, Sandor! Just imagine we had not left! It must be horrible, so close to the Vesuvius!”

“The big problem is that by now they must have found out we've left.”

“Yes, but they don't know where we are, and everything will be chaotic there at the moment. Let's hope they don't care about us and won't come to search for us here soon!”

Davos, who was still clearly agitated, cut in: “Well, hurry up then! We'll follow on foot, Racharo will go see his brother and I will seek out my wife's family; they'll be dying from being worried!”

Sandor nodded.

“Right! See you later then!”

He helped Sansa mount the mule and swung himself onto the mare they had rented. A click of his tongue and off they rode to Neapolis.

In spite of the eerie scenery behind them Sandor didn't press the speed overly.

“Doesn't help if we ride like mad and you lose they baby, sweet mistress. We're not in immediate danger from the Vesuvius, I'd say.”

Sansa Lupusina nodded faithfully and tried to calm herself.

 

Half an hour later, they had arrived at Edmurius Rufus Tullius's villa. It was an impressive building. They knocked and were received by a slave. Luckily, it was an old man who remembered Sansa Lupusina and went to fetch his master at once.

No three minutes later, Edmurius Rufus Tullius was sailing into their direction with big strides.

“Sansa! Oh Sansa! How wonderful to see you! And today, of all times! I've heard that the Vesuvius has kind of exploded, and I was thinking of you and hoping you were safe. And here you are! The gods must have seen to it to keep you safe.”

Sansa Lupusina started to laugh in sheer relief, and she hugged her uncle fiercely.

“Uncle, I've only come with my slave, Sandor, the rest of the family is still in Pompeii. Did you get my message some weeks ago that Primus Iofrecus is dead?”

Edmurius Rufus looked at her and answered: “Why, yes, of course! Didn't you get my message in which I invited you to visit me?”

Now, Sansa Lupusina was surprised... though just for a moment. Tivio Auro must have held back the invitation from her so he could better put her under pressure and use her as a pawn for a new marriage! What a horrible man!

Her uncle seemed to smell the rat as well, shook his head in disgust and ushered them in without further ado. To her great joy, her great-uncle Brindus Tullius Piscarius was at home, too, and embraced her as cordially as Edmurius Rufus.

She was allocated a very nice guest room, and Sandor even got a tiny chamber next to hers that was meant for a guest's servant; so he didn't have to sleep where the Tullius's slaves did. How very convenient!

 

Sansa excused herself, slept for various hours and so did Sandor, who was holding her snug in his arms. In the afternoon, Sansa and Roslina, Edmurius's young wife, went first to the temple for a sacrifice and then to the baths to refresh themselves. They took to each other at once and discussed the day's dramatic developments. Due to the earthquake some houses were damaged, but all in all, it could have been much worse. Especially when compared to what had to be happening in Pompeii. The sky was unnaturally dark, and there was a disgusting stench of sulphur and ash in the air, which left them anxious.

After dinner, Sandor sneaked into Sansa's bed again. They needed to talk, to make plans.

“For the moment we may be more or less safe, but what next? Do you want to stay here?” the huge slave asked.

“No!” Sansa emphasised. “Uncle Edmurius is nice, but I don't want to be a burden for him. When anyone from the Auro or Baratinus family knows we're here they'll cause him serious problems. And they could try to claim you back. I won't let that happen.”

“What next then?”

Sandor stroked her cheek gently with his calloused fingers.

“I think we'll travel north. A province beyond the Alps might be far away enough. Perhaps we should head for the border of the Empire.”

“I've heard from a Teutonic gladiator that the Roman soldiers have started to build some kind of fortifications or Wall where the border to the free Germanic tribes is. Those people are real barbarians, real wildlings. And the weather is so much colder there! Lots of rain and long, snowy winters. Is that where you truly want to live?”

“I feel I can handle the cold. And barbarians? The Auro and Baratinus families are supposed to be oh so noble – but tell me: what was refined about Primus Iofrecus? What about Cerisia Baratina? What about the Emperor who sent my family to the Lion pit? I can't help myself, but I don't think the Germanic tribes could be worse. And after all, we don't have to travel beyond that Wall, we could still live on the Roman side. What do you think? Would you like to live there, or rather in one of the southern provinces?”

Sandor snorted.

“I'll live where you want to live. That's all I need to feel at home.”

Sansa's heart beat wildly in her chest when she heard his words, and she pressed herself against his impressive body and kissed him with a wonderful mix of passion and tenderness – she was relieved to be supported by him. Their first night away from Pompeii left them happier than they could have imagined.

 

After three days, they heard the news: the town that had been their home for years had been eradicated from the face of the earth. Meters and meters of ash and pumice stone covered the ground... and everything and everybody that had been present at the time of the catastrophe.

It took some more days until they could be absolutely sure that no-one from the Baratinus and the Auro family had survived in Pompeii. Sansa Lupusina was sad with regard to Myrcella and Tominius, to some extent even with regard to Tirinus and his lewd friend Bronnus, but she didn't feel much about the others.

Back in Rome Iamicus Auro would have more important concerns than whether Sansa and a slave had survived. This made things easier for them and they could plan their voyage to the north more thoroughly.

And there was one more thing that was left to do: Sansa set Sandor free officially. Edmurius Rufus Tullius was not amused at all, and he was even less so when he found out what the reason for the action was, because he didn't appreciate Sandor (which did hardly come as a surprise). That told Sansa Lupusina that their plan to move to the north was a good one. Her relatives didn't repudiate her, or cast them out, but in the long run it would be more convenient for all of them to put some distance between them.

 

Almost two years later, Sansa and Sandor Canisius Liberatus, as they called themselves now, arrived with their little son Aulus in the north, in a small town called Augusta Vindelicorum. The place had been a Roman military camp at first, but now, there were more and more private settlers as well. It wouldn't be easy at first, they knew, but then again – when had things ever been easy for them? No, they would not be deterred, and it was basically a good place for them, they decided. A simple hut was erected soon, and they intended to replace the wood with stone and to make it bigger over the years to come.

Sansa looked at the man she had come to love and said: “Obeying a rich pater familias, a husband or a slave master may be easy at first sight, and the same would be true for a more luxurious lifestyle, just like the one I had in the past, with private baths and everything; but I wouldn't want to have that kind of life back.”

Sandor embraced her, watched his dark-haired son in a makeshift cradle, smiled and answered: “Me neither – although in a way you'll always be my sweet mistress. But apart from that we'll have a whole life now to find out together what our new family name “liberatus” actually means.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year & I hope you enjoyed the story! :-) Thanks you so much for all the feedback! It was interesting (and challenging) to have this kind of historical background. I wrote the story before I knew that Pompeii with Kit Harington was being produced, so the plot hasn't been influenced by any preview clips. In 2014, I want to finish the recent works in progress, of course, and I want to finally, finally start the sequel of "And suddenly, everything was different". So lots of plans ahead and lots of hope for other people's wonderful fanfics. Looking forward to much reading and writing!


End file.
